I Thought You'd Keep Me Warm
by Calendulam
Summary: Sometimes the right push comes from the most unlikely of places. A reunion fic. Spoiler speculation for 4x04.


This is an odd little idea that I got the day after the horrible Battery Park spoilers came to light. I know this would never happen, but it was fun to play with all the same. I have no idea why I keep including Sebastian in fic. I guess my subconscious is trying to make me like him.

I don't own glee.

~0~

Blaine has been tossing and turning for over an hour when his phone chimes on his bedside table.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:23AM**

_In NY at a club and you'll never guess who I spy amongst the sweaty mass of bodies looking super hot in actual men's clothes_.

No. It couldn't be. He shakes his head and stares at the text, trying to decide whether or not to respond. His hands are shaking slightly as his fingers clench around the phone, his knuckles going white with the pressure of his grip. Before he has a chance to make a decision it chimes again, startling him.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:23AM**

_Heard the 2 of you called it quits. That's really too bad._

Blaine's palms are sweating and he nearly drops his phone, having to reach out and catch it before it tumbles onto the bed. Sebastian had been meek and friendly the last time they had spoken, and though he hasn't said anything to suggest he is back to his old ways, Blaine's heart is still pounding in his chest and there is a horrible quivering sense of fear in his gut. He tries to tell himself the feeling is due to the fact that someone is mentioning Kurt. His friends have been shying away from the subject ever since he told them they broke up, stringently ignoring the giant elephant in the room no matter how terrible of a day Blaine is having. But he just knows something bad is going to happen. It's like a sixth sense. His Kurt sense. He swallows the lump in his throat as his phone chimes for a third time in as many minutes.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:26AM**

_Look, here we are! _

There is a picture attached. Blaine takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before clicking on it. Super hot is definitely a proper description of the Kurt in the attachment. He is wearing something dark, making his skin all the more pale and glowing and perfect. The sharp angles of his face, his lowered eyes, his immaculate hair – he's so put together and beautiful. Blaine can see the eyes of a man next to Sebastian staring at Kurt greedily and his pulse quickens even further. Something is off about him, however. Blaine leans closer to examine the picture.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:28AM**

_Man, he is really wasted too._

That explains it. Blaine has never seen Kurt intoxicated. His body usually stands ramrod straight, his chin up and eyes down, just waiting for someone to say something. But he is hunched, his arm slack around Sebastian's shoulders, his chin lowered.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:31AM**

_How much alcohol do you think I'd have to ply him with before he'd come home with me? Since you know him best I thought you'd be the expert._

Blaine really does drop his phone this time. He curses harshly as he fumbles to retrieve it from in amongst his rumbled bedding. It couldn't have said what he thought it did. He had to have been imagining it, thinking the worst, giving in to his fears, the cold lead mass in his gut. Sebastian had never shown Kurt anything but hostility and now he's taking cell phone pictures with his arm slung around his shoulders and calling him hot? It doesn't make any sense. And yet...

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:35AM**

_You always struck me as the big old bottom in that relationship, but I think if he's trashed enough and I play on his insecurities he'd totally let me fuck him. Think so?_

_Don't touch him you disgusting SOB_, Blaine types and hits send with a shaking finger, pulled from his silence at last.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:40AM**

_I think his place rather than mine. That way I can just leave after. Not have to deal with the aftermath. Easier that way_.

_You fucking_ – Blaine starts to respond. He stops and closes his eyes, trying to think. He has to do something, but he's so far away. So helpless. He opens his eyes and hits a button, his speed dial. He lets it ring over and over, but Kurt never answers. He tries Rachel, praying that she'll pick up even though he has no idea how she will be able to help unless she is at the club with Kurt. It rings and rings, and after an age her bright voice tells him that she's busy training to follow in the footsteps of her idols Barbra Streisand and Patti LuPone, or sleeping, and that she'll return his call if he leaves her a detailed message. He disconnects the call before the beep.

He's pacing now, to the door of his room and back, over and over, flipping his phone between his fingers. It chimes again. He's afraid to look.

**From Sebastian Smythe**

**Sent at 12:51AM**

_We just danced. Those are some crazy powerful hips. Who knew? Guess you did._

And that's it. Even if there is absolutely zero chance that he can get there in time to do anything, he is going to New York. If for nothing else than to punch Sebastian Smythe's teeth down his throat. And maybe comfort Kurt, or... He doesn't even want to think about it.

He tosses some clothing into a duffle bag, not even sure what he has packed or if it will be of any use to him, then fishes his keys out of the front pouch of his satchel. He glances once around his room before quickly running to the bathroom to snatch his toothbrush from the holder. He is in the car without remembering his trip down the stairs. As he turns the key in the ignition he wonders vaguely if he remembered to lock the front door of the house. He doesn't really care either way.

When he arrives in Brooklyn it's a little after 9am. He only stopped twice on the way – for fuel and coffee and because his bladder was near bursting. He rushed the entire time, speeding all the more to make up for the necessary detours from the interstate.

Finding parking is frustrating and takes forever. Blaine feels about ready to yank out his hair or burst into tears, or do both simultaneously, when he finds a space and parallel parks between a red Toyota and a rusty Volkswagen, then rushes off in search of Kurt and Rachel's building.

A hollow ache hits him as he finds his way to the large brick building where Kurt found his perfect first apartment. _Our_ first apartment, Kurt had said, and proceeded to go into detail about design schemes, his vision for the space. Blaine wonders through his ache and panic how closely the apartment now resembles those spoken details, built up from the empty rooms of wood floors an exposed brick walls and large, dirt streaked windows.

Stairs, stairs and more stairs and he is shaking in front of the grey steel door. He wonders if he should knock. He still has his key, hadn't remembered to give it back to Kurt before heading to the airport and back home, hadn't been able to bring himself to send it in the mail or drop it off with Burt and Carole.

He knocks twice, quietly. Too quietly to be heard from the bedrooms within, but he doesn't want to think about that. He only really bothered out of the courtesy that has been smashed into his brain from a young age. He doesn't actually want someone to come and let him in. He takes out his key and slides it into the lock.

The first thing Blaine sees when he enters the apartment is Sebastian lounging carelessly in a high-backed grey chair, his face calm and his hands resting in his lap.

Red. That's the next thing he sees. He wonders for a split second, his thoughts disconnected from the pure malice coursing through his body, if the colour he sees is part of the decor or is simply a figment of his rage.

Just as Blaine is about to rush him, Sebastian lifts his hands as if in surrender. "Whoa!" A tentative smile turns up the corners of his mouth at Blaine's pause. "I get that you're ready and willing to commit murder and hide my grisly remains in a convenient location, but just listen for a minute first. Nothing happened – well, besides a little dancing, a little walking, some tears and lots of vomit – Kurt is completely fine and unmolested, I swear it on my trust fund."

"Then why are you –"

"After your ex finished worshipping the porcelain god, I dragged him to his frilly lair and he passed out cold. Then I came out here to wait for you."

Blaine lowers his hands and slumps against the wall, sliding down until he is seated on the wooden floor. He isn't sure what to believe – he certainly isn't taking Sebastian's word at face value without checking on Kurt for himself, but Sebastian seems sincere. He isn't smirking or sneering or leering or making any of his usual smarmy expressions. And then – had he just said he'd been waiting for Blaine? Even though Blaine had been all the way in Lima...

"Wait... How did you know I would –"

"Look, I know you have absolutely no reason in the world to trust me, but neither does Kurt and he did tonight. He was talking about you and just – I know I was an ass to you, okay? And Kurt – he loves you. And for some reason you love him, too. God knows I don't understand why. He's even prissy when he pukes. How can someone be a prissy vomiter? Anyway, he's unhappy without you, he misses you and all of that crap. And judging by the way you raced through the night to save him from the Big Bad Sex Wolf, I would say the feeling is mutual." He rises from the chair, running his palms down over his shirt to straighten the fabric. "So, I'll be off now. You kids work things out."

Blaine watches in silence as Sebastian makes his way to the door. He turns the knob and opens it a crack before glancing at Blaine over his shoulder. "I figure if you two patch things up that we're square." He pauses for a moment, swallowing, then shrugs. "For, you know, the eye thing."

And he's gone, the door closing behind him. The quiet snick sounds loud in the empty room. Blaine stares down at his hands, trying to decide what he should do. He hears Sebastian's voice in his head calling Kurt his ex and he has to bite his lip to keep his chin from wobbling. He doesn't want that. He never did, not really. And if Kurt is still unhappy, if Kurt didn't – Well, then Blaine is an idiot. And he needs to fix it.

He finds painkillers in the tiny bathroom and pours a glass of water and waits.

He hadn't intended on going into Kurt's bedroom. He definitely hadn't intended on sitting and watching him sleep like some weirdo, and yet when Kurt finally begins to stir nearly three hours later, there he sits on the edge of Kurt's bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, studying the slope of his nose and the flutter of his eyelashes on his rosey cheeks, the redness of his parted lips.

His brow furrows first, and lips part farther to emit a soft, painful whimper. Blaine can't help himself; he scoots closer on the bed and rubs a comforting hand across the broad expanse of Kurt's back. He can see over Kurt's shoulder that his eyes are attempting to open, but it is a battle that he doesn't seem to be winning. Blaine twists around and grabs the glass of water and two small white pills and holds them out for Kurt to take.

"Rachel," Kurt rasps, lifting his head from the pillow and taking the glass and pills from Blaine's hands. "Can you save your _I told you so_s until after I've died, because it doesn't feel like it's gonna take that long."

Blaine takes the glass back as Kurt moans pitifully and drops his head back onto his pillow. He knows he should correct Kurt's assumption, tell him he's not Rachel, but he doesn't want to. Not yet. Not when Kurt is sighing and shivering, trying to pull more blankets over himself without any real willpower. Blaine shifts and pulls up the duvet, tucking it tightly around Kurt's shaking body. He mutters a gravelly thanks and sinks further into the bed. He looks so small. He looks so hurt. It's not even a decision – Blaine runs his fingers through Kurt's tousled hair and around his eyes and over his jaw.

It's quiet in the room for a few long moments, nothing but Kurt's heavy breaths and the ticking of a far-off clock and muffled street sounds. It's almost startling when Kurt speaks, Blaine having assumed he had drifted back to sleep. "This hasn't taken a turn for the creepy or anything."

Blaine pulls his hand back as if burned, forgetting that Kurt believes him to be Rachel. "I – I'm sorry –"

"Blaine?" Kurt turns quickly, his blood-shot eyes flying open and then hurriedly closing once more as he falls back on the bed, wincing in pain. He breathes deeply, in and out, in and out, in and out, Blaine holding himself rigid and close and ready to bolt the entire time, watching Kurt with wide, guilty eyes.

Kurt opens his eyes slowly this time, letting them adjust to the harsh midday light. Blaine forces himself to meet his gaze as he is studied. Kurt does not seem angry as he had feared, however, merely curious. "You look tired," he says finally, his voice breathy, his eyes roving.

Blaine reaches up to attempt to flatten his hair and straighten out his rumpled clothes, but he knows it's all in vain. Kurt continues to watch him with a soft expression that makes his stomach twist and flutter. "I drove all night. I –"

"That wasn't safe, Blaine. You could have fallen asleep at the wheel or –"

"I know."

Kurt pulls himself into sitting position with another wince and slouches forward, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He sighs deeply and looks back up, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "Why did you do that?"

Blaine recognizes his searching tone. He has never been one to beat around the bush. "I was worried." Vague, maybe, but still true. Kurt tilts his head to one side and raises an eyebrow, his _and?_ face. His eyes are piercing and Blaine tries to gather his words. He's had hours to prepare for this very conversation and he still doesn't know what to say. "Sebastian," he begins. "He... from the club... I..." He heaves a sigh and rests his head in his open hands. He just needs to breathe for a moment. Breathe and gather his thoughts without searching through Kurt's eyes for the right answers.

But Kurt isn't allowing that, not just yet. He makes a little hum of recognition. "Sebastian? I remember... he was mocking me when I was tossing my cookies. That was _here_. I think he walked me home." He sounds incredulous and Blaine glances back up to find him staring in confusion at the door to his room. "God, do you think he's lurking in a corner with a kitchen knife or a vile of poison, just lying in wait?"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "No, he... He texted me. From the club. Pictures of you and... Well, he said some things." Kurt makes his _and?_ face again and Blaine curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his middle and staring down at the dark grey of Kurt's new duvet cover. "He said he was going to get you really drunk and take advantage of you. I tried to call – you didn't answer. Rachel didn't answer. I panicked."

"Blaine." His voice sounds sad. Blaine had expected it to be chastising. "You actually thought Sebastian wanted to – with _me_?"

"He said –"

"He _said_ he wasn't entirely convinced that I wasn't concealing a top secret vagina. And he doesn't seem like the type to believe that gender isn't based solely on body parts, so... Pretty sure there is about as much attraction on his end as there is on mine. Which is negative five million."

"You were drunk. I could tell even in the picture he sent me. You were drunk and he said... I didn't know what to do. I knew I wouldn't get here in time to do _anything_, but I just... It didn't make any sense, but I had to. I was panicking. I –" Blaine feels the same sense of dread from hours before wash over him. His heart is thumping in his chest and his palms are sweating against his sides. He holds himself more tightly and tries not to let the moisture pooling in his eyes escape the hold of his lashes. Kurt must notice anyway; he rests a gentle hand on Blaine's arm, bringing it around to cup his elbow. He gives it a slight squeeze and lets his thumb stroke soothingly up and down.

"Nothing happened," he says, his voice quiet, placating.

"I know. He was here when I... We talked. He said he knew I would come. He was just pressing my buttons, making me react. I guess in his twisted way he was trying to help. Or maybe it was just a fun game for him; I'm not really sure. I'm not entirely convinced he isn't a sociopath."

Kurt snorts a laugh, his hand tightening around Blaine's elbow. "I could have told you that," he says with a teasing smile.

It's quiet for a moment and Blaine feels his body calm. He doesn't want to unfurl his arms, knowing that if he moves Kurt will let go and he craves the physical contact, no matter how miniscule. "Where's Rachel?" he asks, trying to fill in the sudden awkwardness that he feels, the realization that he has just driven all the way from Ohio and has no idea what to say or do now, but that he desperately needs Kurt to keep looking at him, to keep touching him. To not hate him.

"She went out with Brody last night, so I doubt she's here."

Brody. The bar. The talk about New York and new experiences and spreading your wings. "Right. Her New York boyfriend. Has he been sufficiently broadening her horizons?" He tries not to sound bitter, he really does, but it comes out much worse than he could have even imagined. He cringes at the confusion and hurt on Kurt's face. Kurt withdraws his comforting hand and Blaine feels like he's collapsing in on himself without the weight and warmth of it.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's what you said, when I was here. When I met him... that he would broaden her horizons if she would just give up her Ohio baggage and let him."

"Oh. Oh, _Blaine_. You didn't – Oh my god. I was talking about Rachel and Finn. They're a train wreck. They've _always_ been a train wreck. They'll always _be_ a train wreck. Not us. Never us. Since when do we have baggage? I mean, separately, sure, but not us together. Blaine, why would you... why didn't you talk to me?"

"I didn't want to hold you back."

"You don't hold me back, Blaine. You make me brave."

"Why? I'm not brave. I ran away from you. It was the exact thing I was most afraid of, with us being apart, and I... I always pull away from the things that scare me most. Try and make it hurt less. It didn't work. It never does. Being cut off from you, it's so much worse than the fear that you're going to outgrow me, leave me, stop loving me."

"Blaine, no –"

"That's what I meant when I said I didn't want to screw this up. I was already so attached to you, even then. But I did screw it up."

"Yeah, you did."

Blaine lets himself cry then, finally. He's never understood why people say that crying is soothing, that it helps take the pain away. It always makes him feel tight and fractured and wrong.

Kurt is crying too, though he has been for a while now, because he is brave in ways that Blaine will never be. He takes Blaine's face in his hands and brushes away his hard-fought tears with tender strokes of his thumbs. "Oh, honey," he soothes, "It's screwed up, not unfixable."

Blaine knows there was a reassurance, some hope in what Kurt just said, but he can't get past the endearment in order to decipher it. "Call me that again."

Kurt brushes a tear-dampened thumb across Blaine's lips. "Honey."

"Call me that always."

Kurt smiles, his wet eyes glistening. "I can't promise that it won't be said with a touch of sarcasm from time to time, or the occasional exasperation at the very least."

"That's to be expected I suppose."

Kurt huffs a laugh and instead of making Blaine feel better as Kurt had intended, it starts his tears anew. "Hey," Kurt says. He pulls Blaine against him, his hands winding around the back of his neck. Blaine finally uncrosses his arms to wrap them around Kurt's warm body and hold on for dear life.

"I'm so sorry. I love you, Kurt. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry too, honey. I love you, too. Always."

Blaine pulls his face out of the crook of Kurt's neck. He needs more. He needs the connection that he's been without for far too long. He leans in close only to have Kurt throw his head back and slap a hand over his mouth. "Are you seriously going to kiss me right now? Because I threw up like, a lot, and I drank and I probably didn't brush my teeth and my mouth is – _yeck_. And you've been up all night and are probably only marginally better."

Kurt's eyes are wide and he's shaking his head and finally, finally Blaine feels like smiling. "I don't really care right now, Kurt."

Kurt gives him a searching look, slowly lowering his hand. "So, we're gonna do this?"

Blaine isn't sure whether he means the kiss or just being together, but he thinks it's probably a little bit of both. "Yes. Definitely."

When their lips meet Blaine feels the same spark, the same warm comfort blanketed around barely tempered lust that he has always felt, ever since the very first kiss at Dalton over a table full of craft supplies and a tiny bird coffin. He wants to explore the lust part a bit more closely, he really does, but he's having a difficult time keeping his eyes from drooping and Kurt was right about their dual breath issues being a little bit disgusting.

"Okay, you were right. You do taste pretty rancid."

"You taste like stale coffee and bean sprouts."

Blaine laughs. It feels like drawing breath after being under water for weeks. "Let's get some sleep."

"Please. My head feels like it's been hollowed out by a melon baller." Kurt snuggles down into his fluffy bed, dragging Blaine in after him.

"You say the weirdest stuff sometimes."

"Hush," Kurt tells him. He pulls Blaine against his chest and nuzzles behind his ear. "It's time to sleep."

Blaine knows they have much to discuss and work out, but things are going to be okay, and right now what they both need is the comfort of each other and a whole lot of sleep. It doesn't take long before he begins to lose focus and drift away. His last thought before he goes under is how much better this is than the last time he'd slept in this bed, his back to Kurt and dying little by little, thinking he had no right to stretch out and touch him.

When he wakes up it's dark outside and something is hissing. It doesn't sound like a cat, but maybe a raccoon or a goose. Whatever it is, he doesn't feel like being attacked by any sort of wild animal, and hey, how the hell did it even get inside?

He turns over, hoping to use his body to shield Kurt, and the new position gives him better use of his ears. "Kurt!" says the hissing thing. "You go out to a gay bar and bring home some strange guy? I know you're hurting, but..."

Blaine pulls his head out from under a pillow, Kurt stealing it the moment he lets it go to cover his own face. He rolls over with a groan that sounds a bit like _please shut the fuck up_, but Blaine must have misheard. Kurt would never say that.

"Hi, Rachel," Blaine mumbles, his eyes coming into focus to see her scowling down from above.

Her scowl softens into a look of confusion, then relief. "Blaine! I'm so happy to see you! I'm just going to..." The slap she lays on Kurt's leg is not the least bit gentle. "_We_ are going to have a chat about this later, buddy," she says. It sounds more like a threat than a coffee date.

Blaine smiles vaguely as she backs out of the room and closes the door behind her. Kurt rolls over again and mumbles something indiscernible into the pillow covering his face. Blaine tries to steal it back, but Kurt's got quite the hold on it and he's too tired for a scuffle. He flips to his side instead and rests his head on Kurt's chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady and home.


End file.
